


If you must weep, do it right here in my bed as I sleep

by wearetheluckyones



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of a one-night-stand, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-14 01:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17499344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearetheluckyones/pseuds/wearetheluckyones
Summary: Nick wishes Louis had stayed until the morning.





	If you must weep, do it right here in my bed as I sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy a narrative I wrote for an English assignment last year that I got an A- for. I had to write something under 500 words and fuck was it hard.
> 
> I'm hoping because I'm not enrolled in Stage 2 English anymore that the SACE board isn't going to see this and: number one, think I stole it, and number two, realised I basically wrote the aftermath of a Tomlinshaw one-night-stand for my first assignment of the year.
> 
> Title from Keaton Henson's You.

When Nick wakes, the bed beside him is empty and cold, Louis long gone, just a hint of him left on the pillowcase, musky cologne and sweet shampoo. The room around him is dark, and frigid, and Nick presses his face to the pillow, breathes the last trace of Louis in and tries to ignore the demanding blare of his phone alarm. He knows if he turns it off he'll fall back to sleep and get to work late. He does it every day.

The night before feels like a fever dream, clouded in smoke and mist, whispers of touches that made it feel like sparks of electricity were shooting through Nick's veins, lightning strikes in the dark. He'd always wondered what a night with Louis would be like, and it far surpassed any of his wildest daydreams.

Nick wishes Louis had stayed until the morning. He could have made him tea - Yorkshire with milk and no sugar like he knows Louis likes because he's all Harry ever talks about - kissed his forehead and pretended Louis was his, could go to work thinking of him, missing him, counting the minutes until he'd be back in that bed with him.

Nick switches off his alarm and sits up, sheets pooling in his lap, rubbing at his tired eyes, wiping away the sleep in the corners. He stares blankly at the wall for as long as he can bear it, tracing the crack in the upper corner.

He hopes Louis has left something in his rush to leave - a hoodie, a sock, the watch his mum gave to him on his eighteenth, the one with the etching underneath, anything - just so he can see him again. He wants desperately to see him again, to touch him, kiss him.

In the back of his mind, Nick knows he'll never have a night like that with Louis again. The resentment between them is just too strong. He knows if they see each again, neither will mention it and it will disappear, wisps of smoke lost to the breeze.

Never mentioned, but never forgotten. 

Nick sometimes wishes they’d met outside of their friendships with Harry, without the competition for Harry’s affections looming over them. He wishes neither of them had been stubborn enough to believe - no, to expect – Harry’s friendship to be solely their own. He wishes he’d apologised that first time, when he called Louis naïve and petty, and he wishes Louis had apologised when he’d called Nick a cradle snatcher.

Maybe then they could have been happy. 

With a handful of awful, sharp cracks and a grunt, Nick climbs out of bed, ready, albeit hesitant, to the start the day, heart heavy with the love of someone he can never have, but desperately yearns for.


End file.
